[ By the time House had received the message, his bad leg was beginning to feel twinges of sharp pain. The sort of pain youβd need to sit for several hours and hope you could get on with the rest of your day. Part of him is telling him to sit back down, but his brain is far too busy thinking of what else to serenade in front of Wilsonβs door.
His hand slips inside of his jacket pocket. Enter Vicodin from stage right. Four pills, this time. All while looking at Coma Guy in some non-stakes staring competition (a game that House already won from the jump). If he told the truth, this wouldnβt be the most appropriate time to pop pills whilst there is an actual biohazard in the room. But the only scents emanating from the room are rubbing alcohol and the pot of rotting petunias sitting next to the nightstand.
He swallows the pills whole. There is enough saliva at the back of his throat to drag them to his stomach. Thatβs when he hears Wilsonβs voice from the other side of the door. As if a dog whisperer were hailing down their hound with dry humor.
Leg pain aside, he drags himself with the help of his cane to slide the door open. ]
Donβt mind me! By all means, keep going. I want to know how life can be so cruel without me.
Yeah, well, undo this hurt you caused and maybe we can get to that.
[This said in a way that falls somewhere between teasing and bitchy. Frankly, if Wilson wasn't able to use snark to cope? Their relationship would've been DOA years back. At least three crises ago there would've been a homicide and Wilson just isn't suited for jail. Instead, he tempers his occasional annoyance with smart remarks.
The doctor's face stays bemused when he offers House the wrapped sandwich. It's a bit smushed but hasn't gone cold yet. Going to have to do more than some lyric banter to justify dragging him down here bud.]
So you want to fill me in on what just couldn't wait and required a clean room??
[ Not everyone can speak Housian, but thatβs as close to a βthanksβ as anyone will get. The sandwich itself is enough to hold him over. Itβs the cocktail of pain medication and stomach acids churning inside that has him craving some fries.
Then again, the only thing he ate today was three cups of coffee and half a donut he stole from the nurseβs station. Despite being a world-class diagnostician with a big-boy salary, he still maintains the diet of a college freshman. ]
This is a rushed job. Which means youβve got something going on and youβre in a hurry.
[ He stalling to get to the point. Typical M.O. whenever House wants to summon Wilson and drag him along for the ride. Torture for most. A typical Monday for the oncologist. ]
I ate the fries in the elevator. [Is Wilson serious? Unlikely, given his wry tone, but he likes having his fun too.] What's a rushed job? The sandwich? You know if I wanted to use my medical degree in the deli aisle, it wouldn't be to give you free food and labor.
[There is a point in there, somewhere about being appreciative but it's not really being drilled in. Usually the way House says thanks is not spoke and is absolutely roundabout when it is put to words. Wilson can live with that.
Wilson pulls his gaze from House to pan over the room. Nothing appears out of place but isn't particularly familiar the space and does not make a habit of hanging around the ward the way House seems to relish.]
And if you're talking about me rushing out of here well. Yeah. You know Cuddy doesn't like us hanging out down here doing differentials and listening to whatever telenovela you've got on.
Itβs 'Tres Mujeres'! [ He responds with all the conviction of a deadpan middle-aged man neck-deep in cheesy melodrama en espaΓ±ol. ] And itβs not the first time Cuddy has tried to play goalkeeper between me and my hidey holes.
[ A leg infarction has its limitations, and yet House manages to not get caught under Cuddyβs stiletto heel. Even if that means coming in three hours earlier than your boss to steal her schedule. He can knock out a differential in the morning and take a nice all-day siesta inside one of the unoccupied clinic rooms. Itβs a win-win for him all around.
He hobbles over to one side of Coma Guyβs bed and settles himself in the chair. Now, with his sandwich in hand, he prys the parchment paper open and licks the excess condiments off his thumb. ]
Sheβs not looking for you. Sheβs looking for the strapping, handsome young man who owes her clinic hours. Donβt worry β [ He holds one wedge of the sandwich close to his mouth. ] If I hear one menacing click of a heel, Iβll hide you under the bed.
Oh, well then. [Wilson waves his hand in the general direction of where House is standing.] Perfectly acceptable.
[Despite his words, Wilson looks like he wants to be there. Or at least he doesn't want to leave, which should be all that House expects. To that end, he's got one more smart remark before they get to business and whatever differential is ahead.]
Well if that's what she's looking for, you'll be safe no matter where you are. Now, you want to tell me why I'm not upstairs having lunch with the new doctor in pediatric neurosurgery?
Seriously?! [ Obviously Wilson is yanking his chain. It doesnβt make it any less of an on-brand move for his friend. Give it three or four more days before the two go out for a fun romp at the local put-put course. ] The one with twenty slap-on bracelets because βthey're like totally fetch with the kidsβ?
[ He adds a touch of Valley Girl vocal fry on that last line. But yeah, fine β Houseβs case.
Hidden under the white sheets of Coma Guyβs bed is a manilla folder and bag of BBQ chips (because every free sandwich your best friend gives you requires a bag of chips you stole from the vending machine). With the lukewarm sandwich resting on Houseβs thighs, he stretches the upper half of his body to pull out the folder and tosses it over Wilsonβs side. All while grabbing his side snack. ]
Here. Donβt get too much of your lack of judgement on my patient.
[ The details should be clear enough: 20-year-old woman with a clean medical history who now is showing signs of trouble walking, slurred speech and erratic eye movements. ]
Stop trying to make fetch happen, House. [Said so blandly, so dryly, one almost wonders if Wilson teed up for this. He didn't. Oncology just means patients of all ages and trying to at least pretend to keep up with the zeitgeist across generations. Wilson likes to consider himself relatable. Also? Wilson knows damn well he won't go the distance with this newest surgeon but he also likes the opportunity. As such, he's happy to move his best friend's laser sight off of his romantic entanglements.]
You have a team of a bunch of mini-yous. Unless you think it's some unusual presentation of.... [Wilson trails off as he takes the folder. The big C that punctuated the end of sentence is said internally as his attention is thoroughly engaged. Rather than take the second seat, opposite House across Coma Guy's knees, he paces while reviewing the woman's chart.] I'm going to assume you already ran scans and excluded stroke, aneurysm, and seizure?
[Basics but juuuuust in case someone was being lazy, the oncologist would be striking off all dead ends in the differential.]
[ As Wilson paces, House has a moment of ingenuity. He reaches for Coma Guyβs hand and molds it into a cupping-like gesture. All so he can slip his bag of chips in like an organic cupholder without spilling crumbs on the bed. ]
MRI and CT scans are clean and all that jazz. Which means β [ He digs in the bag to grab a handful of chips. ] Itβs not her brain!
[ Not even missing a beat on this. ]
So Iβm just going to assume the ship between you and that oh-sassy Venezuelan doctor in pharmaceuticals didnβt sail.
[Wilson clicks his tongue while he fingers through the labs. Unremarkable image notes, just as House said. He's only half listening to his best friend's chatter while he reviews the initial blood panels.]
Hmn... urinalysis clean for drugs and other than low potassium her blood is unremarkable.
[His words aren't for House, specifically, so much as working through his own mental process. The sound of chips being eating is stark against the rhythm of the machines keeping House's cup holder alive. Wilson casts a disapproving glance but doesn't remark.]
[ Thatβs the only relevant House needed to hear about the patient. Cameron went on about her being a Julliard student and how mommy and daddy prefer their daughter to go to law school post-grad β yadda, yaddaβ¦ ]
Sheβs as clean as a whistle and yet remarkably offbeat.
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@oncological | tfln
Date: 2024-02-07 12:06 am (UTC)[ By the time House had received the message, his bad leg was beginning to feel twinges of sharp pain. The sort of pain youβd need to sit for several hours and hope you could get on with the rest of your day. Part of him is telling him to sit back down, but his brain is far too busy thinking of what else to serenade in front of Wilsonβs door.
His hand slips inside of his jacket pocket. Enter Vicodin from stage right. Four pills, this time. All while looking at Coma Guy in some non-stakes staring competition (a game that House already won from the jump). If he told the truth, this wouldnβt be the most appropriate time to pop pills whilst there is an actual biohazard in the room. But the only scents emanating from the room are rubbing alcohol and the pot of rotting petunias sitting next to the nightstand.
He swallows the pills whole. There is enough saliva at the back of his throat to drag them to his stomach. Thatβs when he hears Wilsonβs voice from the other side of the door. As if a dog whisperer were hailing down their hound with dry humor.
Leg pain aside, he drags himself with the help of his cane to slide the door open. ]
Donβt mind me! By all means, keep going. I want to know how life can be so cruel without me.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 12:58 am (UTC)[This said in a way that falls somewhere between teasing and bitchy. Frankly, if Wilson wasn't able to use snark to cope? Their relationship would've been DOA years back. At least three crises ago there would've been a homicide and Wilson just isn't suited for jail. Instead, he tempers his occasional annoyance with smart remarks.
The doctor's face stays bemused when he offers House the wrapped sandwich. It's a bit smushed but hasn't gone cold yet. Going to have to do more than some lyric banter to justify dragging him down here bud.]
So you want to fill me in on what just couldn't wait and required a clean room??
no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 04:25 am (UTC)[ Not everyone can speak Housian, but thatβs as close to a βthanksβ as anyone will get. The sandwich itself is enough to hold him over. Itβs the cocktail of pain medication and stomach acids churning inside that has him craving some fries.
Then again, the only thing he ate today was three cups of coffee and half a donut he stole from the nurseβs station. Despite being a world-class diagnostician with a big-boy salary, he still maintains the diet of a college freshman. ]
This is a rushed job. Which means youβve got something going on and youβre in a hurry.
[ He stalling to get to the point. Typical M.O. whenever House wants to summon Wilson and drag him along for the ride. Torture for most. A typical Monday for the oncologist. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-07 04:47 am (UTC)[There is a point in there, somewhere about being appreciative but it's not really being drilled in. Usually the way House says thanks is not spoke and is absolutely roundabout when it is put to words. Wilson can live with that.
Wilson pulls his gaze from House to pan over the room. Nothing appears out of place but isn't particularly familiar the space and does not make a habit of hanging around the ward the way House seems to relish.]
And if you're talking about me rushing out of here well. Yeah. You know Cuddy doesn't like us hanging out down here doing differentials and listening to whatever telenovela you've got on.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-08 05:06 am (UTC)[ A leg infarction has its limitations, and yet House manages to not get caught under Cuddyβs stiletto heel. Even if that means coming in three hours earlier than your boss to steal her schedule. He can knock out a differential in the morning and take a nice all-day siesta inside one of the unoccupied clinic rooms. Itβs a win-win for him all around.
He hobbles over to one side of Coma Guyβs bed and settles himself in the chair. Now, with his sandwich in hand, he prys the parchment paper open and licks the excess condiments off his thumb. ]
Sheβs not looking for you. Sheβs looking for the strapping, handsome young man who owes her clinic hours. Donβt worry β [ He holds one wedge of the sandwich close to his mouth. ] If I hear one menacing click of a heel, Iβll hide you under the bed.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-08 11:48 pm (UTC)[Despite his words, Wilson looks like he wants to be there. Or at least he doesn't want to leave, which should be all that House expects. To that end, he's got one more smart remark before they get to business and whatever differential is ahead.]
Well if that's what she's looking for, you'll be safe no matter where you are. Now, you want to tell me why I'm not upstairs having lunch with the new doctor in pediatric neurosurgery?
no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 05:40 am (UTC)[ He adds a touch of Valley Girl vocal fry on that last line. But yeah, fine β Houseβs case.
Hidden under the white sheets of Coma Guyβs bed is a manilla folder and bag of BBQ chips (because every free sandwich your best friend gives you requires a bag of chips you stole from the vending machine). With the lukewarm sandwich resting on Houseβs thighs, he stretches the upper half of his body to pull out the folder and tosses it over Wilsonβs side. All while grabbing his side snack. ]
Here. Donβt get too much of your lack of judgement on my patient.
[ The details should be clear enough: 20-year-old woman with a clean medical history who now is showing signs of trouble walking, slurred speech and erratic eye movements. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-12 04:44 am (UTC)You have a team of a bunch of mini-yous. Unless you think it's some unusual presentation of.... [Wilson trails off as he takes the folder. The big C that punctuated the end of sentence is said internally as his attention is thoroughly engaged. Rather than take the second seat, opposite House across Coma Guy's knees, he paces while reviewing the woman's chart.] I'm going to assume you already ran scans and excluded stroke, aneurysm, and seizure?
[Basics but juuuuust in case someone was being lazy, the oncologist would be striking off all dead ends in the differential.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-13 04:29 am (UTC)[ As Wilson paces, House has a moment of ingenuity. He reaches for Coma Guyβs hand and molds it into a cupping-like gesture. All so he can slip his bag of chips in like an organic cupholder without spilling crumbs on the bed. ]
MRI and CT scans are clean and all that jazz. Which means β [ He digs in the bag to grab a handful of chips. ] Itβs not her brain!
[ Not even missing a beat on this. ]
So Iβm just going to assume the ship between you and that oh-sassy Venezuelan doctor in pharmaceuticals didnβt sail.
[ Aaaannd chip break. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-14 12:09 am (UTC)Hmn... urinalysis clean for drugs and other than low potassium her blood is unremarkable.
[His words aren't for House, specifically, so much as working through his own mental process. The sound of chips being eating is stark against the rhythm of the machines keeping House's cup holder alive. Wilson casts a disapproving glance but doesn't remark.]
What was the patient doing before they came in?
no subject
Date: 2024-02-28 06:25 am (UTC)[ Thatβs the only relevant House needed to hear about the patient. Cameron went on about her being a Julliard student and how mommy and daddy prefer their daughter to go to law school post-grad β yadda, yaddaβ¦ ]
Sheβs as clean as a whistle and yet remarkably offbeat.